


You Shouldn't Have

by Dumbothepatronus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Comedy, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hogwarts Founders Era, Humor, One Shot, POV Male Character, POV Salazar Slytherin, POV Third Person Limited, bad gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbothepatronus/pseuds/Dumbothepatronus
Summary: Salazar considers himself a gentleman, a man of good breeding. That's what makes it all the more embarrassing when the gift he picks out for Rowena doesn't go over as well as he hoped.
Relationships: Rowena Ravenclaw/Salazar Slytherin
Kudos: 16





	You Shouldn't Have

“Oh, you don’t need to get me anything,” Rowena said. “Don’t trouble yourself.” 

Salazar knew it was a trap. 

It was something people liked to say, especially people who thought of themselves as unmaterialistic. But he knew better; he’d seen what had happened when his father showed up empty-handed at his mother’s birthday celebration. Salazar was no fool; if he wanted to keep in good standing with his most esteemed coworker, he’d better have a gift, and it had better be right.

But Salazar, cunning wizard that he was, knew what would make Rowena smile. So on Thursday night when the bell had rung and the students were in bed, he wrapped his traveling cloak around his shoulders and journeyed to  _ Baylord’s Books _ . Even if books weren’t timeless, traditional gifts, it would have been the perfect fit. Rowena loved nothing more than a hefty text.

He strode into the shop, and Baylord leaped to his feet. “Salazar! How wonderful to see you.” He clutched his pathetic fabric hat between his hands, and a bead of sweat trickled down his shiny bald head. “I was just telling Prudence this morning, ‘you know who hasn’t been by in ages? Salazar Slytherin. How I miss seeing him in my—”

Talking, talking, talking. Rowena had better appreciate him for putting up with this overenthusiastic shopkeeper. Salazar smiled through gritted teeth. “The books, Baylord. What books do you have in stock?”

“Oh! Oh, of course; right away, sir.” He ducked behind the counter until only the top of his head was visible, the torchlight reflecting on its smooth surface. It reminded Salazar of something… something the tropical merchant wizards sold in the summer markets. Cocobobos? Bubanuts? Baylord reemerged, his arms filled with books, piled up to his non-existent chin. “Here we are. The latest releases.”

Coconuts. That was the word. Baylord’s head was the exact shape of a coconut. 

Baylord pulled the top book from the stack. “Very popular, this one. Witches especially love—”

Witches loved it? Excellent. That was all he needed to know. “I’ll take it.”

“Y-y-y-yes, sir.” 

Salazar drummed his fingertips on the countertop as Baylord wrapped the title in silky red cloth with a flick of his wand. He was out the door before the galleon he tossed even hit the counter; he’d had enough Baylord for an entire year. 

* * *

  
  
  


Birthday parties for Hogwarts Heads were quiet affairs, but not entirely without jubilation. Helga had strung the dull gray walls of the conference room up with a magical blue-and-bronze banner. The smell of tart raspberries and flaky pie crusts permeated the air. Godric leaned over the table, his unkempt mane brushing the pie crust as he sniffed it with barely contained excitement. And Salazar was prepared with his gift; the present to trump all presents.

Proper behavior for a noble pure-blood wizard included a stiff posture and a somber expression, which came almost as naturally to the raven-haired, regal Rowena as it did to Salazar himself. But this year, Salazar had to push his feet into the flagstone floor to keep them from bouncing. Even Helga would have to admit he’d outdone himself; nay, he’d outdone them all.

He pressed the package into Rowena’s long, elegant fingers. It was unbecoming to smirk, but he couldn’t help himself.

Rowena eyed it suspiciously. “If this is another bottle of  _ Percival’s Perfect Polish, _ please keep it. I’ve enough work to do; it’s insulting to imply I should be taking a greater interest in keeping the castle clean.”

“Of course not, my dear. I’m sure you’ll find this year’s gift most enlightening.”

“Indeed.”

She did not look convinced. But she’d regret her doubts once she opened it. 

The silk slid slowly off the package, and her eyes sparked with interest as the spine was revealed. “A book? Well, that’s—” She pulled the rest of the fabric away, and the spark died. “1001 Cleaning Spells. Salazar, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, is that? Is that what it is?” Salazar scratched his head. He’d gotten it wrong. Again. Well, if there was one thing his father had taught him, it was how to talk his way out of trouble. “I thought you’d appreciate some help, seeing as your schedule is so full. Now you won’t need to spend nearly as much time with the furniture polish.”

“And since I’m so inept that I need instructions on basic cleaning spells, you thought this book would enlighten me?”

Salazar frowned. It sounded like she was calling him a fool. Nobody called Salazar a fool. “Sorry I couldn’t get you the perfect gift, Rowena. Perhaps next time I shall infuse it with a potion of self-importance.”

Rowena thumped the book onto the table and rose to her feet. “I’m not asking for perfection. I’m asking for effort!”

“Ha! So you admit you want a gift! Wasn’t it you who told me not to bother? That you wanted nothing? If it doesn’t matter, why do you care?”

Helga cleared her throat. “Does anyone fancy pudding? The house-elves made a delicious raspberry—”

“Please, Helga, dish me out a piece of that. Looks delicious!” Godric’s voice boomed off the close-set stone walls; he was talking too loud, a clear signal of his discomfort.

Salazar sighed. “No, thank you. I’ll have tea in my quarters.” He’d try again next year. Next year, he’d get it right.

* * *

  
  
  
  


The next time September rolled around, Salazar was prepared. He’d been working with merchants and tailors since January, and Rowena’s gift had been wrapped and stowed under his bed for weeks. After all, powerful wizards learned from their mistakes. Procrastination had been last year’s downfall.

When he slid it across the table to Rowena, she frowned. “Might as well get it over with.” She untied the strings and let the silk fall away. “A… tent, Salazar? Why would I have need of a tent, when I have sufficient quarters already?”

Salazar blinked. “Tent? Don’t be daft. What you have there is a—”

She shook the material out, and the sleeves unfolded from behind the bodice. “Robes? Salazar, is this supposed to be a set of robes, for me to wear? These wouldn’t fit a giant!”

He swallowed. Perhaps he should have asked Helga for Rowena’s measurements. But at least it was fixable. “Can’t you simply shrink them?”

Rowena rolled her eyes. With a wave of her wand, they shrunk and shrunk until they reached the appropriate size. 

She still did not appear pleased. 

It made no sense—witches loved robes. And these robes were so resplendent, with the house-elf hair embroidery lettering along the hem and its classic message—’Toujours Pur.’

“What? Still don’t like them? I’ll have you know, I commissioned the tailor to use the finest silk money could buy.”

Helga drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Why don’t we move on, dears? Rowena hasn’t opened my gift yet.”

“Splendid! Splendid idea,” said Godric. “We shall move on and forget the entire thing.”

Salazar sulked. Apparently, there were far more wrong presents than right ones. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


As soon as the pie was eaten and the banner was vanished, Salazar slunk back to his quarters, plunked himself into his favorite chair, and stuck his chin in his hands. Sure, he could go the easy route and give her baked goods, as Helga did. He could gift her with a traditional jewelry piece, like Godric. But Salazar didn’t want easy; Salazar wanted fabulous. After five years of failure, he needed something spectacular. Clever. Magnificent. Something the heir of money and magic would be proud to bestow upon his colleague.

With a frustrated growl, he snatched his quill and parchment and scribbled out his thoughts.

_ The Moste Magnificent Birthday Gift _

_ -No cleaning items. Nothing even resembling a cleaning item’s mother. _

_.-No clothing _

_ -Coconuts? _

_ -A potion of anti-uptightliness _

He grinned for a moment, imagining the way her hands would fly to her hips when she read the potion’s label. It would be a sensational way to keep himself in the dragon’s den.

_ -An enthusiastic centau— _

He cursed and shook his inkpot. Blasted things, always running empty right in the middle of his best work. Wizards should have found a solution for these terrible Muggle inventions centuries ago, but no, it was still dipping feathers into pots every third word until the ink ran dry. Then you had to—

Salazar dropped his quill onto his lap. That was it. The perfect gift.

* * *

  
  


A long twelve months passed before the blue-and-bronze banner again adorned the conference room, but at last, the wait was over. Salazar strolled into the conference room and placed a slim, narrow box onto the table in front of Rowena. The others hadn’t arrived yet, but he couldn’t delay any longer.

“I’ve got it this time,” he said. “This time, I’ve got it right.”

Rowena’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She might laugh now, but in a minute she’d see that Salazar Slytherin was no joke. 

“It’s a necklace, isn’t it? You’ve fallen in line with tradition and bought me a piece of tasteful jewelry.”

Salazar grinned. “Open it and see.”

Even the gift box was a masterpiece: cedarwood intricately carved with ravens and snakes. He was particularly proud of that detail; it had taken the woodcarver months to get it right. She slid the lid off and gazed into it, and the smirk fell right off her face.

“Salazar, it’s…” She blinked at the open box, speechless. His breath caught in his lungs; any second now, she’d swoon when she discovered its secret.

Rowena reached into the box and plucked out the silver quill. From the enchantment on her face, he’d wager that its outward appearance alone would have been enough to impress her. She ran her fingers along the slender veins, over the row of sapphires embedded over the shaft. “It’s exquisite.”

“It’ll never run out of ink. I enchanted it myself.” It had taken him four months and an entire bushel full of cheap quills to figure out how, but Rowena didn’t need to know that. 

She pulled a parchment from her robes and pressed the nib against it. Her perfect handwriting flowed onto the page in midnight blue ink, so shiny it reflected the firelight from the sconces.

She placed the quill reverently onto the table. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Salazar—it’s the perfect gift. Thank you.”

His chest puffed out with pride. After five long years, he’d finally gotten it right. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who supports me by reading, commenting, or leaving kudos. You all make writing so much fun.


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